


Irish Coffee

by lalakate



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: AU, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-22
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-07 23:47:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13445988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lalakate/pseuds/lalakate
Summary: Marcus considers his feelings for his neighbor, Abby Griffin.





	1. Chapter 1

One day he’ll tell her.

He’ll tell her how he’s admired her from afar for months, how the lines of loneliness etched under her eyes are something they have in common, how beautiful he thinks she is when brown strands stray stubbornly from her ponytail and frame her face perfectly, how he longs to stroke both hair and cheek to determine for himself which is softer.

He’ll finally confess how he likes her better without make-up, how the nights they spend talking across neighboring balconies about life and grown children mean more to him than she can ever know, how he adores the way she favors oversized sweatshirts and fuzzy socks, how she’s far more beautiful than she can even begin to understand.

He’ll summon up the nerve to invite her over for dinner and Irish coffee, will suggest they snuggle under a blanket to ward off the chill of lazy evenings, will gently place an arm around her shoulders and watch how she reacts to his touch. He’ll draw her into him if she’s willing, will confirm for himself what he somehow already knows–that they fit each other perfectly, that she’s the piece that’s been missing from his solitary life now that the niece and nephew he raised have moved on and forward, now that his apartment is too quiet and too tidy, now that his bed feels larger and emptier than it ever has in his life.

He’ll lean over and kiss her temple, will revel in the mingled scents of honeysuckle and her, will nudge his nose into her cheek, will breathe her name into her ear.

_Abby_ –the name that haunts his dreams and teases his romantic hopes. _Abby_ –the woman who is currently sleeping on his chest, whose heartbeat now pulses in time with his own, the woman he prays will not wake until morning so rudely intrudes on their solitude. _Abby_ –the person who is slowly and stealthily stealing his heart from his body even as her empty cup of hot cocoa rests on his coffee table.

He won’t wash the mug at first after she leaves. He’ll more than likely press his lips to where the last vestiges of her lipstick cling to the brim, will imagine what it’s like to actually kiss her, to taste the sweetness of her mouth, to experience the brush of her tongue against his, to have her breath intermingle with his own as something new and beautiful takes root for two people just beginning the second half of their lives. Somehow middle age seems less daunting if he can experience it with her.

But for now he’ll lie here content and warm, savoring the feel of her in his arms, thanking whatever powers that be that her heat went out and she came to him for help, that she agreed to stay in his apartment until her heater is fixed, that she actually leaned into him and slept as _I Love Lucy_ reruns continue to play and cast black and white shadows across the room.

He wonders what it will be like when they’re naked, when they’ve sampled and satisfied each other in ways he hopes she thinks about, too. He ponders how it would be if she just stayed forever, if she shared his bed nightly and his life daily until they were both old and gray, if they spoiled grandchildren while creating new memories, experiencing adventures as parents who have done their job and now are free to fly again.

For that’s what he wants, what he dares to hope will come to pass, and he knows he should speak up sooner rather than later. Time is a fickle mistress, and life holds more surprise than predictability.

So he’ll do it tomorrow, he thinks as his heart speeds in his chest. He’ll ask if he can cook her dinner, if she’d like to stay for a movie, if he can make her an Irish coffee while they sit together on his couch and watch the snow that’s supposed to blanket the city. He’ll summon up the courage needed for such things tomorrow.

But for now, he’ll just enjoy this.


	2. Chapter 2

She awakens slowly in darkness, reluctant to open her eyes, absorbing the delicious warmth surrounding her, wishing she could wrap herself up in it and sleep until morning. But her bladder is insistent, so she blinks heavy lids open, stretching her legs until they hit an unexpected barrier, one that feels decidedly human. She’s tangled up in something, or someone, she realizes, and she turns her head until she’s face to face with the one who engulfs her, smiling as his breath feathers across her forehead. 

Marcus. 

They must have fallen asleep on his couch, one of his arms wrapped protectively around her middle, the other dangling on top of her as if it belongs there. She stares at him in the darkness, daring hesitant fingers to reach out and cup his beard, blinking in wonder at contact that almost feels forbidden. He feels better than she imagined, and she lies as still as she can, not wanting to risk waking him and breaking this moment of intimacy she craves with every bone in her body. He stirs then, leaning his face into her touch, making a noise of contentment that prompts her to smile in spite of herself. 

She loves this man. She has for a few months now. And she can’t help but wonder if he loves her, too.

He sneaked his way under her skin and into her heart, taking up residence and redecorating her life before she realized what had happened. Acquaintance had lead to camaraderie, camaraderie to friendship, and friendship into a crush that spiraled into something deeper when she'd only meant to stick her feet in to test the conditions.

The truth is that she could drown in this man and never want to come up for air.

There have been glances, seemingly innocent touches, remarks that border on flirtation followed by blushes that draw her in even further. She was half-certain he wanted to kiss her last night as she leaned into him on his sofa, laughing at Lucille Ball’s antics while reveling in how his chuckles reverberated in his chest. They’d been close, closer than they’d ever been, and she wonders what would have happened if she’d taken the initiative herself, if she’d kissed him the way she craves doing, if she’d claimed him with her mouth before asking for permission. 

Would they be here on his couch now? Or would they be wrapped up in each other in his bed?

The possibility makes her ache in deep regions, makes her swallow again and lick her lips, makes her stroke his beard until she’s memorized the feel of it against her thumb, pressing this moment into a soul that’s been lonely far too long.

There's something about him that just fits. Maybe it's the way his smile can lighten whatever troubles her, maybe it's the honest concern he shows if she's had a bad day, or maybe it's the fact that he actually laughs at her jokes and enjoys her company as much as she enjoys his.

Of course, that sexy as hell beard of his doesn't hurt matters. She smiles at her own thoughts.

Her fingers continue to feather across his scruff, touching what's been teasing her for months, and she swallows at the contrast of coarse hair and soft skin, far more affected by this than she should be. His mouth is just there, so close, a mere breath away from hers, and she leans in slightly until their noses touch, her breath catching in her throat as his arm tightens around her and pulls her even closer. 

God, she wants to kiss him.

His eyes blink once, twice, then he’s looking at her with unfocused eyes, piecing together their current circumstances as he draws back just enough so he can see her clearly. 

“Abby.” 

His tone is a mixture of tenderness and confusion, and she strokes her thumb across his cheek without thinking, unable to look away from dark eyes now studying her with an intensity she cannot mistake. He wants her, needs her, longs for her with the same pent up passion she holds for him, so she swallows down misgivings and leans in just enough, touching her lips to his own, lingering long enough for her body to light up like a firecracker. 

Then he’s kissing her back, softly, tentatively as his arms take a hold of her like they mean it. But he’s still cautious, making certain he’s not misreading her as she situates herself until she’s beneath him, until they’re chest to chest. 

They look at each other, into each other, and she’s not certain who smiles first. But it doesn’t matter, not anymore, it only matters that they’re laughing, that he’s kissing her again, that she opens her mouth to him, that his tongue moves in to claim her with a reverence that turns her limbs to water. 

“Marcus,” she whispers as his lips move to worship her jaw and neck, as her arms wrap around his torso to bring him in as close as she possibly can. 

“Abby,” he breathes as he samples her skin, as his fingers trace patterns of delicate intimacy on to her shoulder, as he claims yet another piece of her heart. 

“We should have done this earlier,” she says, her tone husky and weighted from the combined pull of fresh sleep and arousal. 

“We’re doing it now,” he returns, the huskiness of his voice stroking her inner thighs as his hand dares a soft pass over her left breast. A moan pushes up from her depths, one hoarse and needy from years of disuse. His mouth moves back to hers then, its intensity unmistakable, its question one she answers without hesitation or fear. 

“It’s about time,” she hums, then he’s laughing, dotting more kisses to her neck, smiling down on her like he’s just opened a Christmas present and she’s his gift. 

“So you want this, too?” he questions as his fingers move into her hair. Her eyes close, her body absorbing his touch, her soul accepting his imprint as her voice struggles to catch up.

“I want this, too,” she breathes. There. It’s been said. 

Foreheads touch, eyes connect, noses slide against each other as mouths and fingers take up a slow dance that’s been building for months. She’s pulsing, craving, arching up into him, nerves alight and feeling everything. Then he pauses long enough to breathe, drawing back just enough to see her clearly, cradling her in his arms as if she’s the most valuable thing he’s ever seen. 

“Would you... should we move this to my bedroom?”

His nervousness notches her need up a degree, and she smiles back at him and nods, pressing the smile she receives into memory and bone. 

“Yes. After I go to the bathroom.” 

He chuckles, she grins, and he rolls off of her carefully, his knees popping as he stands beside her, offering far more than his hand as it extends in her direction. 

“Take all the time you need.” 

She stands, her legs as wobbly as Jell-O, and her arms move around his middle, his claiming her in return. 

“I think we’ve wasted enough time,” she hums, standing on tiptoe to dot a kiss to his nose. “Don’t you?”

He gazes into her in a way that only he can, his hand claiming hers as finger lose themselves in each other. He kisses her forehead, marking her in the sweetest way possible as they take their first steps together towards something new and organic, something they both somehow know is meant to be theirs, something that will sustain and surprise them as only shared lives can.

He’s her Marcus. She’s his Abby. And she wonders when she’ll tell him that the heat in her apartment works just fine.


End file.
